


Night in the Museum

by satb31



Series: 1,000 Follower Giveaway Fics [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Mindless Fluff, Museums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satb31/pseuds/satb31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joly and Combeferre are so involved in wandering a museum they get inadvertently locked in overnight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night in the Museum

**Author's Note:**

> A response to the following prompt: Joly/Combeferre; they are so involved in wandering a museum that they get (unrealistically, of course) inadvertently locked inside overnight. Whatever era pleases you.
> 
> As I work in a museum, I am fully aware this is a totally unrealistic scenario, but alas.

As a general rule, neither Joly nor Combeferre were especially interested in art museums — Joly would have preferred a natural history museum full of specimens and bones and dusty dioramas, while Combeferre could never pass up a trip to one of the many historic sites in Boston, where he would often correct the tour guides on the accuracy of their interpretation.

But on a chilly afternoon in the Musain, they were both so frustrated with their attempts to study for their anatomy exam later in the week that when Prouvaire approached them to suggest a trip to the local art museum, they quickly abandoned their textbooks and tagged along.

Upon arrival, they split up: Prouvaire meandered off in search of nirvana among the Buddhas and bodhisattvas, while Combeferre made his way to the basement of the American wing so he could study the Maya pieces, as he had recently developed a fascination with Mesoamerican culture. For his part, Joly was content to tag along behind Combeferre — until his friend pulled out a pencil and a pad of paper and started taking notes.

“Are you really taking notes?” Joly asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Combeferre didn’t answer, as he was so engrossed in studying a cylinder vase that he didn’t even hear the question.

Joly sighed and wandered off in search of something more interesting. He peered at a few ship models, wandered through some furniture galleries, and eventually found himself in the furthest gallery from the entrance — a gallery containing an exhibition of Audubon’s Birds of America. He found himself engrossed in studying every detail of every print — learning about how Audubon studied the birds he painted for hours, and how ultimately he killed and stuffed them before he painted them. 

It was grim — but Joly loved it.

As he peered into one of the cases at a particularly interesting sketch, all of a sudden the lights went out in the gallery, rendering the space pitch black. Joly looked around, peering into the darkness, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach.

“Hello?” he called out, a slight tremor in his voice as he wondered if anyone else was around. He started groping his way toward the gallery entrance.

“What the fuck?” came Combeferre’s voice. As Joly turned the corner into the Maya gallery, he could see a tiny pinprick of light — it was the mini-flashlight Combeferre always carried in his breast pocket.

Joly fumbled his way toward the tiny light. “I guess the museum is closed,” he said.

“They could have told us,” Combeferre growled, stalking over to the glass doors leading into the gallery and tugging on them, trying unsuccessfully to open the doors. “Shit,” he cursed under his breath.

“We’re stuck?” Joly asked. “Can you call someone?”

Combeferre pulled his smart phone out of his pants pocket and peered at the darkened screen. “Fuck. The battery’s dead. What about yours?” he asked Joly.

Joly fumbled in his jeans, which he discovered only contained his keys and his wallet. “Don’t have it. I think I left it back at the Musain.”

Combeferre sighed heavily. “I guess we’re stuck,” he muttered.

Joly’s eyes widened. “So we could be here all night then?” he asked, his voice quavering slightly.

Even in the dark Combeferre could see Joly was nervous. “It will be fine,” he said, reaching out to touch Joly’s arm. “Just forget about the fact that there are dead bodies in those burial urns,” he said, in an attempt to make Joly laugh.

“So there may be ghosts in here,” Joly speculated. 

Combeferre grew wide-eyed at the thought. “Perhaps,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Joly laughed, his own nervousness quelled by the quaver in Combeferre’s voice. “Perhaps we should discuss our anatomy studies?”

Combeferre fumbled his way to the couch in the center of the gallery, and gestured with the flashlight for Joly to join him. “Shall I quiz you?”

**

Combeferre was as good as his word, testing Joly on his knowledge of the 206 bones of the human skeleton — which Combeferre, with his photographic memory, had already mastered. The tiny flashlight gave out sometime during the discussion of the bones of the feet, so they sat in the darkness on the black leather couch — and Joly, finally relaxed and forgetting their predicament, had kicked off his sneakers and stretched his legs across Combeferre’s lap.

“Which system should we do next?” Combeferre asked. “Muscular? Nervous? Reproductive? Or have you mastered the last one with Musichetta and Bossuet already?” he teased, patting Joly on the leg, happy to see his friend’s nerves soothed.

Joly poked him in the stomach with his foot. “As if you are one to talk,” he retorted. “I forget — is it Courfeyrac this week, or Feuilly? I believe Grantaire is actually back with Enjolras right now, so that can’t be it. And I don’t think I’ve seen Eponine around lately—” Joly could feel Combeferre glaring at him.

“I don’t believe in denying oneself the pleasures of the flesh,” Combeferre said primly. “I’m a man of science. You need a wide sample size for any study. Consider the Maya cylinder vases, for example—” He gestured at the cases in the dim gallery.

“You never sampled me,” Joly whined petulantly.

“You never volunteered,” Combeferre replied matter-of-factly, patting Joly’s leg.

“Are you still conducting research?” Joly asked, using his foot to trace circles on Combeferre’s inner thigh. “Or have you been too busy looking at some squiggles on some old pots?”

“The Maya are a fascinating people, I’ll have you know,” Combeferre said indignantly. “I would think with your interest in magnetism and alignment with the poles, that you’d find them as interesting as I do. They were great astronomers, and because their cities were located along the Tropic of Cancer, they—”

Joly quickly silenced him by straddling him on the couch and pressing his lips against Combeferre’s, feeling him squirm underneath him as they kissed. “Later,” he said, when they finally came up for air. “We have all night for you to tell me all about the Mayans.”

“They’re — actually — called — the Maya,” Combeferre gasped.

Joly kissed him again, this time more sweetly. “Be quiet, Ferre,” he whispered as he nibbled on Combeferre’s ear. “The ghosts may hear you.”

**

The next morning, when the gallery lights came on, Combeferre was lying on his back, snoring slightly, with Joly’s lanky frame wrapped around him like a vine.

“What are you doing here?” came a guard’s stern voice.

Joly was the first to awake, opening his eyes and squinting at the sudden brightness. “We were — we were locked in last night,” he stammered, disentangling himself from Combeferre and groping on the floor for his shoes.

Combeferre then sat up quickly, noticing his trousers were still unbuttoned. He quickly zipped himself up and touched two fingers to his neck, noticing a blood bruise that Joly had sucked near his collarbone. “The doors were locked, and we couldn’t call anyone—” he explained.

“Just go,” the guard commanded, waving his hand dismissively. “I’m sure the security cameras didn’t record anything inappropriate, right?”

Joly and Combeferre both shook their heads vigorously, beating a hasty retreat out of the museum, refusing to look at each other — or at any of the museum staff. 

**

“What happened to you guys yesterday?” Prouvaire asked them later that evening over drinks. “I looked all over the place and you’d disappeared. Did you experience something transformative?”

Combeferre studiously avoided Prouvaire’s gaze, suddenly engrossed in the contents of his glass, while Joly smirked.

“You could say that,” Joly said, as he reached under the table to touch Combeferre’s hand, hoping that the studies they had commenced in the gallery would be continued in a more comfortable venue sometimes soon.


End file.
